


Combustion

by wildwordwomyn



Category: The Mechanic (2011)
Genre: Erotica, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-05
Updated: 2011-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwordwomyn/pseuds/wildwordwomyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late at night and Steve can't sleep. Bishop is only down the hall. How could this not lead to trouble?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Combustion

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the movie, of course, and man-on-man consensual, kinda rough sex. Some language and not too much plot. If any of this isn't your thing, walk away now.

Bishop woke quickly, sensing something was wrong. He was in bed, naked under a flat sheet, when the air shifted and suddenly he was aware. Steve was wandering around the house, restless again. He thought he was being quiet but after living alone for so long, Bishop was used to every sound the house made. Steven made the sounds different, louder, more disturbing. He still didn't trust him. The kid had become a good mechanic. Only he was ruled too much by his rage, his constant urge to hurt someone. He would never be better, never great. Unlike Bishop he killed because he liked it, and that would be his undoing.

As soon as he opened Bishop's bedroom door Bishop shut his eyes, pretending to slumber. It didn't occur to him until that moment that the top sheet barely crested his lower back. He couldn't pull it up without giving himself away and he wasn't ready to do that yet. Not without knowing what the kid wanted.

"Bishop?" Steve whispered finally after 30 seconds of nothing but his slightly wheezy breathing. The kid really had to stop smoking. "Bishop?"

He decided to quit playing possum. "What?" he answered in a hoarse voice.

"I can't sleep." Steve took a step further into the room, closer to the bed.

"So? Go eat something. Or drink some warm milk. We have an assignment to get up early for."

"But I'm not hungry. Or thirsty."

Bishop rolled over, sighing as he opened his eyes to look at the kid. Steve stood with his feet planted and his hands at his sides. Unfortunately he was weaving just a little. Bishop wondered how much he'd had to drink tonight. He sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist. He leaned against the headboard and watched him silently.

"My mother used to tell me bedtime stories. Did you know that? Oh, no, that probably wasn't in my file..." Bishop didn't speak. Harry told him that once. During that same conversation he'd also mentioned how he never had. "I haven't had an easy night's sleep since I was 10 years old."

Bishop felt himself wanting to hug the younger man. He'd never had a chance. He could drive Bishop to distraction with his anger management issues and unwillingness to listen, then say something in the next minute to make him want to gather him up and spirit him away. Bishop shook his head slightly to clear his head. Whatever else the kid brought up in him, he was not someone to wax poetic about.

"What do you want, Steve?" he asked bluntly. He could see him in the moonlight coming through the windows. Steve wore nothing but white boxer briefs. His body looked strong, wiry. His face was scruffy as usual with that mustache and beard that Bishop, for some reason, didn't want him to shave even if clean faces were less memorable.

Steve suddenly plopped down on the bed beside him. "Tell me a bedtime story." He made himself comfortable, stretching out his feet with his hands behind his head.

Bishop was oddly uneasy. No one had ever been in his bed except him. It was better that way. Less possibility for attachment. Yet he didn't order the kid out of his room or his house. He only said, "I don't know any." He crossed his ankles calmly, watching to see what the kid would do next out of the corner of his eye.

"You any good at poker?"

"I'm not much of a card man, Steve." It didn't answer the question. It didn't matter that he was. He didn't feel like playing at 2 o'clock in the morning when he should be getting his rest.

"Then what kind of man are you?"

Bishop turned his head to look down at the kid. What was he supposed to say? He'd gone from being a machine who always got the job done without emotion to killing his mentor and taking in his son out of remorse. The fact that he'd allowed Steve to stay, that he was training him in the art of assassination, said way too much about how much he'd let the kid get to him. What kind of man was he?

"The kind you shouldn't be so willing to get into bed with." Steve snorted, trying to keep in a laugh. "That was a cue for you to leave."

"But, Bishop, I'm comfortable now. And your bed's softer than mine." He could see him smiling."You don't mind if I stay, do you? Besides, what if the boogeyman comes to get me? I'm safer here..."

Bishop couldn't help chuckling at the absurdity. The 'boogeyman' wouldn't last a second with how good Steve had gotten with guns. Even though it was his bedroom Bishop's intuition told him he was the unsafe one.

"You always sleep in the nude?"

"Steve..." He sighed. "Will you please get out of my bed?"

Instead of doing as requested Steve reached over and pulled the sheet down Bishop's thighs. Bishop froze, unsure of what the kid was doing, unsure of why he wasn't pushing him away. Steve remarked that he now understood why the ladies loved him right before sucking him between his lips. The older man shuddered, unprepared for the wave of lust that rocked him. Steve had obviously done this before. His mouth was a cave of wet, searing heat, making Bishop grab his head to pull him off so he wouldn't come too quickly. Steve was smirking, his eyes literally glowing as he moved to straddle him. He kissed Bishop violently, grinding down hard. His hands gripped Bishop's neck tight enough to choke him, then raked down his chest, scratching him with his nails. The older man took his wrists and forcefully held them behind his back. In retaliation Steve curled over and bit a nipple none-too-gently. He hadn't expected his lust to grow at the action but it did. Bishop groaned as his shaft filled with blood. He got dizzy, clunking his head back against the wall and exposing his throat. Steve had the advantage and knew it. He licked up the wide column slowly before biting right under his chin.

"...Fuck, Bishop...," Steve moaned, rubbing his face against his collar bone. He continued to grind on top of the older man roughly until he climaxed, melting into a puddle of satisfaction.

Feeling the spreading wetness in Steve boxer briefs resulted in Bishop's own climax. He gripped the kid's hips as the desire rolled through him, breathing heavily. He noticed the kid was finally still. For once. Steve's head rested in the crook of his neck, his exhales dampening the skin. It didn't mean anything more than release. Bishop was well aware of that fact. For a second, though, he considered wrapping his arms around the kid to hold him close. Did the kid kick in his sleep? How would his hair feel against his chest? Bishop reluctantly let go. This wouldn't happen again. It couldn't. Steve was uncontrollable, a bad thing for both of them. He was a live wire Bishop knew not to let himself touch more than this one time. He learned from his mistakes.

"Hey, Bishop?" Steve murmured.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sleepy." His body slumped even more into Bishop's.

"Your bed is down the hall. I suggest you go use it."

Steve heeded the command. He sluggishly climbed off Bishop's lap. The older man pulled the sheet up to cover himself. Out of modesty or the need to hide, he couldn't say. By the time Steve made it to the door Bishop was again sitting with his ankles crossed, looking calm and unaffected. When Steve turned back he had his hands in his lap, his fingers loosely intertwined. Steve smiled wearily and saluted him, stepping backward through the door. The older man didn't say a word in reply. There were no words for what he was feeling, or for what he wanted but wasn't able to. They had a job to do in four hours. He needed to sleep. Tonight would be forgotten, and rightly so. Bishop had been a mechanic too long to believe a fight wasn't coming between Steve and himself. As much as he'd liked Harry and felt guilty about killing him, he wouldn't lose to his son. He was the best for a reason...


End file.
